a noisy confession
for jess because. because. what is this.
Dear,
I don’t know how to address a letter that’s never meant to be read, or for that matter one with no recipient. i think that’s the point, though, anonymity, or some poor excuse of it. a blindfold with an inch wide hole. i still need this blindfold on though, I hope you understand. It’s a relief I get regardless, from just writing down these damn words rather than chewing on them all the time. believe it or not thoughts go bad too, its like sealing a container with moisture inside. soon enough everything will start to mold and maybe smell as bad as your closet does.
So I decided to write this after a realization...no, that’s a huge fat lie, there was no illumination or whatever. one day I got tired of pretending I couldn’t understand anything. let’s be realistic, we’re both grown men, there’s no point in melodrama, i’m sure you’d agree. if I’m painfully honest I’d first told myself “look, son, youre in love with him” about three months ago when the weather was as unsuitable as it can get to harbor any kind of inflammatory admission as this, and once it broke out it just spread all over like fire. I’m spooked as hell now because I actually got a fever, you remember. (yeah, you practically slept at the foot of my bed) maybe if i let the spirit go at the time it wouldnt have made its rounds inside my system for a good few weeks, but I guess the winter didn’t comfort, and back then I was just too scared, and you were just too much.
I dont know when it started, I don’t know. maybe it was love at first sight. maybe i dont even love you at all and just want to touch you all the time. hey, there’s a topic. there’s something about your hands that makes me want to plaster your whole hot palm, all five fingers spread wide like a net, just plaster it to some part of my skin, and maybe burn some dark scar there with it. other times I want your hand to have the power over parts of me nothing should have power over, and I want to watch you crush me with a sick brutality, all because i’m bared and I let you. it turns me on in the wrongest ways. certain nights i go to jongdae for some change and there you are, snoring softly on the other bed. i think about what it would take to wake you from a dream that looks this wonderful (obviously i think about how the fuck i can get jongdae out of here first) and what you’ll do to me in the vulnerable darkness. whether you’d cry just on reflex. if you’ll tighten or loosen. if you’re dreaming of your mom again, or if you’ll let me call you “jiaheng” when i ride you. i want to sleep with your disgusting spongy knob still inside and i want to get caught in the morning bare ass naked with no possible way to bullshit our way out of it. i want to tell the world all of a sudden. look at this guy, he’s driven me mad. i’d make out with him at the airport. i’d throw myself off a jet clutching onto him with only one parachute between the two of us. maybe i will make out with him in the airport, get chanyeol to block the washroom door. i’ll clutch your shirt while we squeeze. how loud do you think i’d have to shout for the fancams to get a sound of me? what am i gonna say. excuse me. duizhang, wait up. jagiya, oppa’s gay.
enough about your body. actually not enough. your piercings have been making my mouth salivate, i just want to say. I get the urge to eat things and i usually check myself around that point. I’m sorry I keep talking about your body, I don’t know enough about your heart and it’s really my fault. we just have these fields that repel each other. we’re like that miraculous static you get sometimes when you’re running on the border of two provinces, and two radio channels take up one frequency, except they’re talking over each other and you can’t make out anything over the grating noise. we’re noise, and we’re smalltalk. we’re the breakfast and we’re the bright sky and we’re the 80% chance of rain bring an umbrella ok thanks. we’re the arid summer noon running on the cracking road to the lifeless crackling through the speakers, some cryptic code. i dont get you yet. honey, we’re on the same frequency. some day someone’s gonna need to cross the border. i think this time, this guy on my side here scanning his card like mad at the gas station might be the one to take the first step in.
i might love you. write me back to find out.
with shameless,
unadulterated affections,
L
Dear,
I don’t know how to address a letter that’s never meant to be read, or for that matter one with no recipient. i think that’s the point, though, anonymity, or some poor excuse of it. a blindfold with an inch wide hole. i still need this blindfold on though, I hope you understand. It’s a relief I get regardless, from just writing down these damn words rather than chewing on them all the time. believe it or not thoughts go bad too, its like sealing a container with moisture inside. soon enough everything will start to mold and maybe smell as bad as your closet does.
So I decided to write this after a realization...no, that’s a huge fat lie, there was no illumination or whatever. one day I got tired of pretending I couldn’t understand anything. let’s be realistic, we’re both grown men, there’s no point in melodrama, i’m sure you’d agree. if I’m painfully honest I’d first told myself “look, son, youre in love with him” about three months ago when the weather was as unsuitable as it can get to harbor any kind of inflammatory admission as this, and once it broke out it just spread all over like fire. I’m spooked as hell now because I actually got a fever, you remember. (yeah, you practically slept at the foot of my bed) maybe if i let the spirit go at the time it wouldnt have made its rounds inside my system for a good few weeks, but I guess the winter didn’t comfort, and back then I was just too scared, and you were just too much.
I dont know when it started, I don’t know. maybe it was love at first sight. maybe i dont even love you at all and just want to touch you all the time. hey, there’s a topic. there’s something about your hands that makes me want to plaster your whole hot palm, all five fingers spread wide like a net, just plaster it to some part of my skin, and maybe burn some dark scar there with it. other times I want your hand to have the power over parts of me nothing should have power over, and I want to watch you crush me with a sick brutality, all because i’m bared and I let you. it turns me on in the wrongest ways. certain nights i go to jongdae for some change and there you are, snoring softly on the other bed. i think about what it would take to wake you from a dream that looks this wonderful (obviously i think about how the fuck i can get jongdae out of here first) and what you’ll do to me in the vulnerable darkness. whether you’d cry just on reflex. if you’ll tighten or loosen. if you’re dreaming of your mom again, or if you’ll let me call you “jiaheng” when i ride you. i want to sleep with your disgusting spongy knob still inside and i want to get caught in the morning bare ass naked with no possible way to bullshit our way out of it. i want to tell the world all of a sudden. look at this guy, he’s driven me mad. i’d make out with him at the airport. i’d throw myself off a jet clutching onto him with only one parachute between the two of us. maybe i will make out with him in the airport, get chanyeol to block the washroom door. i’ll clutch your shirt while we squeeze. how loud do you think i’d have to shout for the fancams to get a sound of me? what am i gonna say. excuse me. duizhang, wait up. jagiya, oppa’s gay.
enough about your body. actually not enough. your piercings have been making my mouth salivate, i just want to say. I get the urge to eat things and i usually check myself around that point. I’m sorry I keep talking about your body, I don’t know enough about your heart and it’s really my fault. we just have these fields that repel each other. we’re like that miraculous static you get sometimes when you’re running on the border of two provinces, and two radio channels take up one frequency, except they’re talking over each other and you can’t make out anything over the grating noise. we’re noise, and we’re smalltalk. we’re the breakfast and we’re the bright sky and we’re the 80% chance of rain bring an umbrella ok thanks. we’re the arid summer noon running on the cracking road to the lifeless crackling through the speakers, some cryptic code. i dont get you yet. honey, we’re on the same frequency. some day someone’s gonna need to cross the border. i think this time, this guy on my side here scanning his card like mad at the gas station might be the one to take the first step in.
i might love you. write me back to find out.
with shameless,
unadulterated affections,
L